


Cash Money

by triangular



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, also from my tumblr, grunkle fucking, ok don't look at me cough cough, uhh so yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2504897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triangular/pseuds/triangular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gettin' your ass in some classic Vegas trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cash Money

Las Vegas, Nevada. The land of self-indulgence and bad decisions.

Which, of course, translated to the most obvious place to go for your twenty-first.

It wasn’t even midnight on your first day there and you were already becoming well-acquainted with trouble.

You were already too overzealous with drinking, no thanks to the casino’s complimentary cocktails, and you stupidly downed too many too quickly and rendered yourself completely unable to focus on the slot machine before you, and with your friends nowhere in sight (you forgot they told you they went to a blackjack table), you found yourself drunkenly stumbling away, taking with you the nothingness you gained—you were pretty damn sure those things were rigged, anyway.

For whatever reason, you were under the impression that your friends were outside waiting for you with a cab, so you strolled, hobbled, rather, your way out of the building, almost tripping over yourself as you passed through the luckily automatic doors (there was no way you could manage to figure out if a door was push or pull without making a fool of yourself).

Though you could care less, you were more or less forced into a little green dress because “it’s your birthday, dress up!”

You managed to haggle your way into wearing flats, which was probably the only smart decision you made.  
But heels or flats, your feet weren’t going to cooperate. You had to walk along the exterior of the building, keeping a hand on it for balance.

The bright lights of the city made things a little blurry, but you were sure you recognized someone, so with a little push off the wall, you stepped towards that person and right into the path of another, who hastily collided right into you, your unstable legs giving out and sending you to the ground.

“Oh, uh, sorry there, kid,” a grisly voice called, offering a hand. You feebly grasped it and, with a firm tug, you were pulled back to your feet.

“Hah, thaaanks,” you slurred, retrieving your hand from his, “Can I ask—have you seen my friends? I’m tryin’ ta find ‘em so we can skeeee-daddle. They’re…they look like…people.”

The man, an older gent with a worn face, grayed hair, thick glasses, and one of those weird Turkish hats, let out a rough laugh. “Lemme guess, birthday?”

You gasped, “ _Whaaat?_ How could you tell?! You one ‘a them magicians?”

He was incredibly amused. “Been around the block a few times, darlin’. Want me to getcha a taxi? Can’t let you flounder around by yourself like _that_.”

“Whazzat supposed to mean? I ain’t a fish, mind you, I’m a perfectly capable human bein’,” you said, and tried to prove your point by taking a step but would’ve stumbled down again if he hadn’t grabbed your arm.

“C’mon kid, just lemme hail you a cab so you can be safe in your hotel,” he insisted, somewhat more seriously. “Which one are you stayin’ at?” He asked, already looking to the street for a yellow car.

“Uhh, I dunno. Something Station?” You meekly offered.

He gave you a dull stare and panned, “There are multiple ‘Something Station’ hotels. Which, Boulder, Palace?”

“Pfft, I have no fuckin’ clue, then.”

If it weren’t for his conscience, he probably would’ve scampered off by now. “Then why don’t you call your little friends to find you?”

“Oooh, tha’s a good idea, man,” you pulled out your phone and, “…my fingers don’t wanna unlock it, can you help?’

The amusement wore off and he rolled his eyes, “Sure, I guess. What’s the, uh, password, I guess it’s called?”

With a giggle, you droned, “I can’t tell you! If I let people know the passcode, then they’d be able to go on and see all my weeeird stuff on there. …Plus, I don’ remember.”

The look he gave you was a mix of bewilder and suppressed annoyance. “Are you kiddin’ me?”

“Nope, that’d be a duuuumb name.”

“Goddammit,” he cursed himself, “You’re lucky I was raised better than leaving a young lady vulnerable.” He rubbed his broad, stubbly chin and slowly said, “I guess I could stick around you until your friends call you and keep ya safe, if that’s you’re alright with that.”

“Reeeaaally? That’d be aawesome, thanks, pal!” You cheered, grabbing onto his arm.

“Uh, no problem,” he awkwardly smiled, uneasy from the sudden attachment. “Just not here, kinda got kicked out. My hotel’s right by, if that’s fine,” he told, mostly because he didn’t want to be wandering hither thither with a much younger, much drunker girl stuck to him.

“Defffinitely fine, I need t’ sit anyway, and not on the ground, haha. Why’d ya get kicked out?”

“Well,” he began, starting to walk down the sidewalk with you in tow, “I was rakin’ it in at the tables, and because they were mad someone was winning for once, they called me a cheatin’ hack and kicked me out. And even if they were right, it wasn’t me cheatin’, it was my buddy ol’ Goldie.”

“Who’s Goldie, a dog? Dogs can gamble?! I gotta see that.”

“Er, no,” he said, pulling his other arm around to show off a weird statuette of a gold-panner you somehow didn’t notice before.

Of course, you burst out laughing.

“Hey, he saved my life! That’s why we’re here hittin’ up Vegas,” he argued defensively, as if he didn’t realize how crazy he sounded.

Your laughs devolved to snickering, “I’m suuure he did. From what, Satan?”

“Nope, evil animatronic badger.”

“Whaaat?!”

You got him to tell you the full story, much to his delight, and the parts you were able to pay attention to were interesting, to say the least. If not fudged up, since breaking into a kiddie pizza place to steal one of their singing robots was extremely drastic.

At some rate, you found yourself already in an elevator, his fantastical tales of grandeur passing the time (it wasn’t until his tale about him punching a pterodactyl in the eye to save a pig that your bullshit detector finally went off).  
You managed to exchange names, relieved that Stan was only two simple syllables, before getting off.

When he fumbled to get his keycard out of his pocket, you finally released his arm, a little sad to lose the warmth, but glad to get to sit down again.

He pushed past the door and set Goldie on the small table before going to consult the mini-fridge’s stock. You curiously lifted the machine and realized how heavy it was (at least, for you), wondering how long he was lifting that deadweight around.

But thinking wasn’t something your brain wanted to do, so you flopped facefirst into the neatly-pressed bed, kicking off your shoes. “Man, this is niiiice,” you muffled through the sheets, “so much softer than mine.”

“Yeah,” Stan agreed, kicking the fridge shut, “Perks of staying in a really nice hotel. And using someone else’s credit card.”

You snorted and rolled over to see him taking a swig from a full-sized whiskey bottle (guess the fancy hotels stock bigger ones) and jokingly said, “Can I have summat?”

He briefly took you seriously, but then laughed, “Think you’ve had enough as it is. Just keep that phone of yours on, kid.”

The man took a seat next to you and tossed you the big TV’s remote to mess with while he got comfortable, taking off his fez to run a hand through his full head of gray, fixing any damage his hat had done, and undoing his constricting suit jacket and tie, popping open the top two buttons, revealing a good amount of body hair.

You tossed your attention to the remote when he caught you blankly watching him and fiddled around with the buttons. You got it on, but you couldn’t read any of the blurry words on the channel guide, so you put in random numbers and ended up on some old movie with James Dean, one Stan must’ve recognized because he rattled out an, “oh?”

“Y’like this kinda stuff?” He asked, a little surprised.

“Uhhh, yeah? I guess,” you shrugged. You’d seen one of the actor’s movies before, but only because the batteries in your remote died and you couldn’t be bothered to get up.

“Color me impressed,” he said, taking a quick drink, “Nice to see a kid with good taste in film.”

“I’m not a kid,” you pouted, “I’m old enough to drink!”

“Hah,” he snorted, bottle to his lips again, “You’re just an older kid who can’t handle her liquor and gets herself into trouble.”

You wanted to argue, but even then, you knew he had a bit of a point, and grumpily curled up to his lap. As weird as it was, something about him was just very comforting and familiar; it felt oddly right.

The moving pictures on the screen were oddly hypnotic, so you weren’t sure how much time had past when Stan finally finished the thing off and tossed it to the floor, tangling his newly-free hand in your hair. His unfocused toying with your hair felt nice, but apparently your body thought it felt nice enough to hiss out a tiny gasp.

He roughly chuckled, ruffling your hair some more. “Like that, eh?” His voice was much more gruff and reeking of whiskey.

You rambled a “maaaybe” and nestled your head further into his thigh.

A few silent moments passed (not including the sound from the movie) and he finally huffed out, “Yer friends haven’t noticed yer gone yet?”

“Eh, guess not. Maybe they think I’m off pukin’ somewhere or got a room with some’un, hah!”

Stan muttered something to himself and changed the subject, “Then y’wanna see the hot tub this room came with?”

You shot your head up out of his grasp, “Hot tu— _oof, heeeadrush_ —hot tub?! No way!”

“Mhm,” he smirked, “little glass door o’er there leads to it.”

Almost immediately, you jumped up and scrambled over to the curtained door and, tugging the curtains out of the way slid it open.

It was pretty amazing, it even had a view of the luminescent city. This room must’ve cost a fortune, whomever’s card he swiped.

“It’s somethin’, ain’t it?” Stan boasted from behind you.

“Totally, looks amazin’ from up here, wow,” you gaped, staring out.

A hand was suddenly on your waist and you felt his warmth looming over you, but you were too distracted by the shining, colorful lights to react.

“Even better when yer relaxin’ in some hot water, y’know.”

“Is that sooo?” You chimed, looking over to the steaming tub (guess he forgot to turn it off last time he was in).

“Def’nitely. Y’wanna,” he rumbled his throat clear, “try it out?”

Breaking away from him, you leaned over and stuck your hand in the water. It was nice, hot, and extremely tempting.

“Oh, I don’ got swimstuff, though,” you said dejectedly.

“Tch, ain’t necessary, is it?” He saucily grinned, taking the lead by stripping down to his boxers and stepping in.

At this point you couldn’t really say no and jealously watch him enjoy the tub on his own, so you blindly fumbled your way out of the dress (you hadn’t drank enough to not be self-conscious, but that didn’t hold you back).

You slid into the water, which a bit of a shock to the system at first, and hazily glanced up at Stan, whose face had a smug grin of achievement below his foggy glasses. On his stocky, hairy chest, a large gold necklace glinted from the artificial light.

“This’s niiice,” you sighed, sinking in a little. There was little space, though, so your legs bumped against his.

“Mhm,” he agreed with a glint of something in his eyes. “C’mere, sit a little closer,” he patted the ledge beside him.

You weren’t fully sure why, but you obediently complied, shifting over so that your thighs were against his boxers.

He reached his arm around you and held it on your shoulder, slipping a rough finger under your bra strap. You reddened, but couldn’t process what to do and meekly sat in silence, looking up at the buildings outside.

“Good thing y’ran into me, God knows what’d happened if ya went wanderin’ on yer own like that,” he said, staring blankly outside as well, moving his arm down under yours, “probably’d get yerself in a real mess,” his hand pulled at the fabric on your side, “get kidnapped, maybe. _Taken advantage of_ ,” he slyly drawled, reaching under the material and gripping your breast.

You gasped and echoed a pathetic whine, “ _Nngh_ , I—” he gave another squeeze and you shuddered, “Don’t—”

“Ah, c’mon, girlie, y’can’t say y’didn’t expect somethin’ like this. I’m not keepin’ ya captive, either.” He sent you a cocky look that knew you weren’t going to leave. “Nothin’ wrong with havin’ some fun on yer birthday, is there?”

You didn’t even have a chance to be shy when your mouth blurted out, “guess not.”

Stan gave out a breathy laugh and replied, “That’s what I like to hear.”  
Now that he knew you weren’t going to put up a fight, he had you sit on his knee, and you supported yourself with one hand on his broad chest and the other on his shoulder, your faces close enough for you to see a vague reflection of yourself in his glasses.

He had one calloused hand grabbing your ass, and with the other tipped up chin, meeting your painted lips with his chapped ones. With little resistance, he snaked his tongue into your mouth and swirled it around yours before pulling away, a line of drool dripping from his colorfully smeared lips. You giggled a bit before rubbing it off of him with your thumb and venturing your hand down his delicious form as you gave him a drunk, lusty stare.

“For the sake of bein’ sure, are y’sure yer okay with this?” He cautiously asked, the stiffness in boxers desperate for attention.

“Prrrobably,” you answered without giving a real answer. “Righ’ now I’m sure, dunno about tomorrow, though,” you stupidly laughed. This didn’t really help him, so instead you decided to go ahead and pull down his submerged boxers, allowing his thick member to swim fully erect.

You gripped the base and slowly slid your hand up to the tip, giggling as you watched him jolt and rattle out a deep groan.

You teased the head with your fingers while he moved his hand from behind you to down to your groin, sliding the underwear down and putting his hand directly onto your sensitive skin.

You whimpered at the touch, and when he rubbed a thick finger between his folds, you almost fell onto him, your grip on his shoulder weakening, a high-pitched moan bursting out from your trembling lips.

“Heh,” he panted, “Look at ya, crumblin’ at the touch ‘f a stranger. How pathetical, yer like a little whore,” he chortled, sliding two of his fingers into you rather easily, “Lookit that, yer already so ready f’r my cock, aren’t ya?”

You bit your lip and nodded, needing both of your hands to keep you from collapsing.

“Gonna need t’ use words,” he demanded, removing his fingers.

It was demeaning, embarrassing, and immoral, and you couldn’t resist. You stifled out a, “fuck me,” between sharp breaths, looking to him with desperate, foggy eyes.

“Gladly.”

Stan’s mouth curled into a dominant smirk, and he held his throbbing appendage steady while keeping a hand on your thigh, lowering you down onto it.

It was thicker than his two fingers, and the way he forced you down made the adjustment hurt a little more than you’d expected, but it felt electric through your buzzing body.

“Mmh, _fuck_ ,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his sturdy neck, dropping your head as he thrust inside you.

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, only to force your mouth to meet his again, lips grinding against each other’s, his pumping became rough pounding as he forced his cock all the way into you with each thrust.

The kiss became even more sloppy with the both of you struggling to breathe properly, and even moreso when Stan released your hair and once again slipped his hand under your bra, tweaking your nipple between his fingers.

You tore away from his mouth and made a hissing gasp, leaning your forehead against his.

He was already tensing, his movements becoming less rhythmic and his boozed breath growing more sharp and jagged.

“Ohh, oh God, I can’t take it anymore,” you desperately rattled, voice shaking, “Your cock is driving me insane, oh, just cum in me, please, fill me up with your hot mess, _ohhh, God, please!_ ”

The raw need in your voice drove him over the edge, and with only a few more bucks, he had a bursting orgasm, growling out a booming moan before slumping down, taking a few moments to even out his breathing.

“Ah, God _damn_ , I’m too old fer this,” he groaned, rubbing his exhausted face.

You, on the other hand, were still clinging to his neck, whispering incoherently.

“Urgh, y’okay there, kiddo?”

“ _Yeees_ ,” you drawled, removing yourself from him and fixing your undergarments. You sat close to his side and rested a fatigued cheek against his chest, “I…I’m great, thanks to you Stan,” you chimed, batting your eyelashes.

“Ah, right. Sorry fer losin’ it for a bit there. Happens,” he chuckled, draping an arm around your shoulder.

“No, nooo, it was amazing. Really. Best birthday yet,” you happily sighed.

“Heh, ‘m sure. And, uh, happy birthday. Hope the next uns’re as…interestin’ fer ya.”

“Keep in touch with me and maybe they will,” you gave him a wink.

He laughed, “We’ll see ‘bout that, sweetcheeks.”

Both of you were too tired to leave the hot pool of sex and decided to look out to the restless city, listening to the nonstop buzz of people.

Or maybe that was your phone rattling on the bed.


End file.
